Fantasy Writers 1860

Dorian suddenly opened his eyes.

He found himself standing in the middle of a... perfectly normal corridor.

There were no walls covered with strange symbols, no eerie and mysterious murals, no dim oil lamps illuminating ancient secrets, and even the air was very fresh.

It's so normal it's unbelievable.

If it weren't for the pale blue halo he had just witnessed, Dorian would have thought he was still somewhere in that small building.

As for the pale blue halo, it should be a kind of teleportation array.

Long ago, this magical technique was widely used in the military field, and thus, methods to counter it quickly emerged. During a series of wars in Europe over several centuries, this seemingly powerful magic was effectively countered and rendered unusable.

In modern times, due to the development of the magic industry, this magic, along with other "traditional magic," has been swept into the dustbin of history because of its poor versatility, demanding deployment conditions, and susceptibility to destruction. Now it only serves as an "elevator" in some factories and high-rise buildings.

The middle-aged man walked forward without turning his head, and Dorian had no choice but to hurry after him. The corridor wasn't very long, and soon the two arrived at a heavy wooden door.

Behind the door was a spacious and simple hall, with rows of desks neatly arranged, each with a person sitting behind it, looking just like the cubicles in modern office buildings.

The walls around the hall are lined with tall, dark walnut bookshelves, crammed with all kinds of books. Several equally dark wooden ladders lean against the shelves, allowing people to reach the books on the higher shelves.

Breathing in the familiar scent of the classroom, Dorian felt a sense of peace and familiarity return.

"Sir, what shall we do next..." Dorian turned around and found that the middle-aged man had disappeared at some point, leaving him alone standing at the door.

There's no one here to help?

Dorian, standing there bewildered, suddenly felt somewhat embarrassed.

Since that's the case, let's take a look around first.

He began walking through the aisles between the desks. Everyone was busy with their own work and no one paid him any attention. They also seemed completely uninterested in this unfamiliar face who had suddenly appeared.

As he walked, Dorian saw something interesting.

"Sir, is this... a typewriter?" Dorian walked to a somewhat unusual desk at the far end of the hall.

It looked a size larger than the other desks, and there was a megaphone-like thing on the desktop.

"Yes, you know, it's not convenient for us to install it here. I installed it by following the instructions, but it still feels a bit..." A young man who looked about the same age as Dorian was sitting at the table, holding a thick booklet and scratching his head.

"What's wrong? Is there a problem? You can tell me about it. I know a little about mechanics," Dorian said.

Before I took the postgraduate entrance exam and got into civil engineering in my previous life, I studied mechanical engineering as an undergraduate, so it's not a problem to say that I know a little about it.

Thus, with Dorian's undergraduate-level analysis, the problem was quickly identified.

"That's fine then... Um, could I try it?" Dorian asked.

"Sir, this machine requires some skill to operate; I haven't fully mastered it yet..."

"Let me give it a try?"

After a moment's thought, the young man agreed.

Dorian was sitting in front of the typewriter, so engrossed in studying the mechanical structure that he hadn't taken a closer look.

The key layout was basically the same as the keyboard he remembered. He pressed a few letters lightly and found that the pressure was not enough.

After all, it's a completely mechanical structure made of pure steel, without any lightweight materials, so you can't press it down without some force.

After experimenting with striking a few letters, Dorian felt he had become familiar with the pressure required for the typewriter, so he habitually placed his index fingers on the F and J keys.

Although at this time, the two buttons did not yet have the small protrusions used for positioning.

The young man frowned when he saw Dorian's starting stance: "Sir, your movement is not quite right. The sales staff in the store taught me the correct posture, and it's also in the instruction manual..."

Dorian ignored his words and simply began to tap away.

Despite having tested the pressure and feel, it still felt a bit stiff when I actually started typing continuously. Sometimes the pressure wasn't enough to leave a mark on the paper, and sometimes it was too much, almost tearing the paper.

However, after typing just one line, Dorian got used to the rhythm of the typewriter, found the right feel, and his ten fingers flew across the round keys.

"Click-clack click-clack..."

A rhythmic tapping sound gradually echoed through the hall, attracting the attention of everyone present. They put down their work and looked in the direction of the sound.

Dorian sat upright at the table, his fingers flying across the keyboard, as elegant as a pianist engrossed in a performance.

The young man was so shocked that he couldn't close his mouth.

His movements were completely different from what the shopkeeper had taught him, yet he was so fast and so elegant and relaxed. Watching him type was like watching a piano concert!

What's even more terrifying is that he almost never looks at the keyboard!

He recalled when he was learning to type in the shop. Even the professional teachers sent by the head office couldn't match his speed, and their typing looked utterly unattractive. They couldn't do what he did, almost without even looking at the keyboard!

Why is he so skilled?

It's almost like it's been used like this for over a decade.

Wasn't this thing invented just a couple of years ago?

After typing a page, Dorian finally stopped and took his work down from the paper rack.

Sure enough, the typewriter is much more efficient. It would have taken me almost half an hour to write this by hand, but it was typed out in just a few minutes.

"Clap clap clap..."

Just then, a round of applause inexplicably rang out from behind Dorian.

He turned around and found that a petite girl was standing behind him, wearing a very ordinary black lace dress.

Beside her stood a young girl dressed in a full black dress, wearing a tall silk hat, with her hair tied up in a bun at the back of her head.

It's Lily!

Dorian recognized him immediately.

He had initially thought that this full formal attire was the work uniform of their Cultural and Creative Industries Research Institute, but now it seems that only Lily wears it like this.

"Very good, you have shown me how much a typewriter can improve work efficiency... It seems that the funds Lily applied for this time were indeed used for the right purpose." The petite girl praised repeatedly.

"Lady Disilife, I..." Lily looked down at the petite girl beside her, hesitating to speak.

She looked up and her gaze fell on Dorian.

"You've arrived," the other person said calmly.

"Uh, yes, I'm here."

"Please have a seat." Lily gestured to a chair in front of her desk. "Let me introduce you. This is Ms. Dislifei Inliokula, Vice President and Chief Advisor of the Royal Academy of Arts and Sciences."

Dorian lowered his head and looked at a little girl who was barely up to his chest and looked to be only a teenager.

They've already risen to an important position.

"Hello, Ms. Dis... Ms. Liffie"